


It happened quiet

by aizia



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Female Eivor (Assassin's Creed), Gay Disaster Eivor (Assassin's Creed), rated m for the little fantasy sequence but no actual smut sorry to disappoint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aizia/pseuds/aizia
Summary: Eivor shook her head. “You are not wrong, and you have not troubled me. I just did not expect you to…”“To guess the reason?” Randvi asked. Eivor had the misfortune of taking a sip of mead right when she added, “I have found women to be better lovers, myself.”Eivor choked and spluttered, losing herself to a fit of coughs.(A slightly younger Eivor comes to a realization, a year after she and Randvi first meet.)
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 139





	It happened quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about a year after Randvi and Eivor first meet, which, according to my rough timeline calculations, might have been when Eivor was about 21, roughly 5 years before the game starts (based on Randvi canonically remembering Vili and Vili having left the raven clan at least 10 years prior to Eivor leaving to Snotinghamscire).

“You again,” Randvi smiled, looking up from the texts in front of her. “Were you not planning to drink yourself to death at the feast?”

Eivor handed Randvi the mug of mead she’d brought for her, and she nodded in thanks. “This time, no—I wasn’t. I noticed you weren’t present.”

Randvi sat down on the floor by the wall of the quiet room and gestured for Eivor to sit beside her. “Thank you for thinking of me,” she said, and Eivor settled down next to her, arms resting on top of her knees, bent in front of her. They lapsed into a brief silence, the sounds of the festivities a distant echo from the longhouse a few moments’ walk away.

“You don’t seem to be getting yourself into as much trouble with our group of village fools, these past months,” Randvi said, no particular bite to her words. “It is because Vili has left?”

Eivor exhaled in laugher, shaking her head. “I had already been growing tired of our habits, even before he left.” She took a sip from her mug, thought for a moment. “I’ll hold onto those memories with fondness, but there are more things to life than waking up sick and wondering which ways you must have dishonoured yourself to the clan the night before.”

“And what are these things in life that matter more?” Randvi asked, seeming more intrigued than anything, “if you’d share your insights.”

“I don’t know,” Eivor said. “But I’ll never find out if I’m piss-drunk every day.”

Randvi tilted her head back against the wall behind them and laughed, a brief and soft sound. “That’s fair.” She reached out touched Eivor’s shoulder for a short moment. “In any case, I haven’t minded seeing more of you, these past few months. It has been pleasant to have company that isn’t the king and his… stifling advisors.”

(Eivor had always carried with her a sort of restlessness that she did not understand. Sometimes she would drink enough mead to kill a beast, taunt a dozen guards while Vili and her other friends went looting in Stavanger, return to Fornburg bloodied and bruised and riding on horseback in some state of undress as a dare.

Then she wouldn’t have to think about it for a while.

It was adding oil to fire and hoping the new flames would burn her instead of the old.

And then there was Randvi.

There was something about her calm: how she spoke her words with measured confidence rather than blistering passion, the way her teases and quips were almost fond, rather than belittling, how she soothed Eivor with a word or a touch effortlessly and seemingly without awareness.

It was a peace Eivor had never quite felt with anyone else, and it kept calling her back to Randvi, these past months.)

“Does Sigurd come to see you?” Eivor asked.

“Not often,” Randvi said honestly. Eyeing Eivor’s furrowed brow, she shook her head. “We are not yet married, and we have no obligation to each other.”

Eivor stared at the floor beneath her knees. Obligation, of course. What else was it other than that?

“Do you think you will marry, Eivor?” Randvi asked.

“No,” Eivor said, with an air of finality she had always known, even if it had taken her some time to find it.

Randvi studied her for a moment. “It is understandable,” she said eventually. “Women are often more appealing, aren’t they?”

Eivor blinked, stunned into silence. She opened her mouth and then closed it, uselessly, desperately kicking herself to say something.

“I’m sorry if I’ve troubled you,” Randvi said.

Eivor shook her head. “You are not wrong, and you have not troubled me. I just did not expect you to…”

“To guess the reason?” Eivor had the misfortune of taking a sip of mead right when Randvi added, “I have found women to be better lovers, myself.”

Eivor choked and spluttered, losing herself to a fit of coughs. She could feel her face burning red: from the exertion of coughing or the mortification of her own reaction, she wasn’t certain. Randvi extricated the mug of mead from Eivor’s hand so it wouldn’t spill in her lap, looking terribly bemused.

When the coughing finally ceased, Eivor cleared her throat three times before attempting to speak, and then realized she had nothing to say, anyway. She opened and closed her mouth, again, like an indecisive pollock—

Randvi was laughing, like Eivor had never heard her laugh. At the sound of it, a smile tugged at Eivor’s cheeks despite herself.

“Gods, Eivor.” Randvi looked at her, shoulders shaking and eyes moist with tears, and laughter built slowly in Eivor’s own chest until it eventually escaped her; Randvi seemed set off even more by Eivor’s laughter, and it was a long while until they both stopped and sat back and caught their breath.

Their eyes met in the moment afterward; Randvi’s grin was still on her lips even as she turned her head to face forward once again.

Chest light, Eivor leaned her head back against the wall, content to just sit in the quiet.

* * *

Late that night, as Eivor rode her horse back to the house where she slept, _‘I have found women to be better lovers’_ buzzed around in her mind more than anything she could have drunk.

Absently at first, she thought of Randvi being touched by a woman: her hips caressed by another, her gaze lidded and dark. She thought of the sounds she might have made coming undone: would she have wanted kisses pressed to her neck? Her collarbone? Her chest? Maybe she would grip Eivor’s hand, move it to where she wanted it most—

_Eivor’s hand._

She pulled backwards on the rein, and the horse skidded to a halt.

She leaned her head on the back of the horse’s neck and murmured a long course of expletives, trying to catch her breath.

Randvi.

By the gods.

_Why Randvi._


End file.
